The winter is cold, and long. Peeta sells hot chocolate again, once the weather turns chilly. And he sells out of the heavy, colorful 1930s Faribault wool blankets he found at an estate sale last summer.
Overall his sales are steady, with a bit of an upturn just before the holidays. But with the colder weather he no longer has the opportunity to replenish items at yard sales and auctions, and he's left with a lot of extra time on his hands. He decides to set up his easel right in the store so he can paint during long afternoon lulls.
It's late on a Tuesday afternoon and Peeta has already finished painting the mostly bare trees at the edge of the woods, the brown and orange and red leaves scattered on the ground. Carefully, using the edge of his thinnest brush, he paints in the ebony plait of a single braid hanging over the shoulder of a young woman emerging from the woods. He has yet to find the right mix of colors to define her eyes.
When the same young woman from the painting pushes open the door to his store he doesn't look up immediately, but moves to set his brush to the side while calling over his shoulder, "Hello! I'll be right with you."
There is no response, but when he turns to fully acknowledge his customer, he startles to find that it's her. Her eyes are still just as mesmerizing, her face still just as intriguing—but she's much thinner than the last time he saw her, her slender frame now seeming almost emancipated.
Peeta swallows thickly and clears his throat. "How can I help you?" he asks, his voice friendly but slightly nervous.
Her eyes dart around the store, making note that there are no other customers around. Then the brief glimpse of insecurity he saw disappears from her face and she sets her jaw in what seems to be resolve. She pulls a small golden object from her jacket pocket and lays it on the counter in front of Peeta.
"What's this?" he asks softly.
"I thought you might buy it for resale," she replies. Peeta's eyebrows rise slightly, and he reaches for the object, examining it. It's a pin, such as you might affix to your collar, shaped like a bird with wings spread and encircled in a ring. The entire piece is solid gold, or at least seems to be, based on appearance and the weight of it in Peeta's hand.
"My grandmother called it a Mockingjay," she continues. "She said it brings luck, and…protection."
Peeta sets the golden pin back on the counter. "It's beautiful," he says. He looks at her for a moment and then adds, "I'm sorry; we've seen each other several times now and we don't even know one another's name. I'm Peeta, by the way."
"Katniss," she says quietly, her eyes still on the Mockingjay pin that sits on the counter between them.
"Well Katniss, it's nice to meet you," Peeta says. "I'd love to hear more about this pin. It was your grandmothers you say?"
Katniss nods and reaches for the end of her dark braid, twisting it absently.
Peeta doesn't really need the Mockingjay pin—he doesn't typically buy clothing or jewelry for resale—but he doesn't want Katniss to leave. She has intrigued him since the moment he first saw her last summer, so he makes a spur of the moment decision.
"Would you mind, um, hanging out here for a bit while I research the pin a little?" he hedges, gesturing toward the seating section beyond the baked good display. Katniss hesitates, but in the end she walks over to one of the couches and perches on the edge.
Quickly, as if he might scare her away at any second, Peeta steps behind the hot beverage station and begins to prepare two cups of tea. Sliding open the display case, he takes out two cheese buns and pops them into the small microwave nearby. In a minute, he's placing the items on the coffee table in front of Katniss, next to his laptop.
"Do you like sugar and milk in your tea?" he asks, risking a glance directly into her hypnotizing eyes.
"I don't need—" Katniss begins, but Peeta puts a hand up to stop her.
"It's cold out," he reasons. "And I don't want to drink my tea alone." He smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way. It must be somewhat, because she reaches for a packet of sugar to stir into her cup of tea. She seems more reluctant to take the cheese bun, so after Peeta cracks open his laptop he pulls off a large chunk of his own and pops it into his mouth.
"These are cheese buns," he explains, after he swallows the bite. "Please help me eat them; they won't keep past this afternoon."
Something flashes in her eyes, as if she is remembering the last time he offered her baked goods, and she seems to be contemplating running out the front door. But after a moment she must change her mind, because she tentatively pinches a small bite from her own cheese bun. The look on her face when she tastes the first bite is his reward for the boldness of insisting she stay.
After the first bite she basically inhales the rest of the cheese bun, and then drinks down her tea faster than Peeta thinks is physically comfortable, given the temperature of the liquid.
Peeta bites his lip to keep from grinning as he watches her out of the corner of his eye. In the meantime, he's scrolling through the Google search returns, looking for information on the gold Mockingjay pin. He looks up at Katniss when she sets her empty teacup on the table.
"So the pin is a family heirloom?" he asks, typing into the search bar again.
"Yes," she replies. "It was my grandmother's, but I think she got it from her own mother. It's been in my father's family for generations. I'm not sure how old it is exactly."
Peeta turns his computer screen toward her, showing her the results of his search. On the screen is a similar gold pin, although not featuring the bird motif, but a more simplistic flower design.
"So this one says it dates back to the early 1800s," he says, pointing at the screen. "But I can't find anything about the current market value. Of course, if it's a family heirloom, you probably don't want to sell it. "
Almost immediately her features form what he has come to know as her standard scowl. She picks up the pin from the table between them and stands.
"Well, thanks for the information," she says shortly.
"Katniss, wait," Peeta says softly, reaching out to stop her from leaving. He catches her on the forearm, laying his hand on the soft, worn leather of her jacket.
"Why?" she asks impatiently. "You don't want it."
Peeta shakes his head, slightly amused. "I didn't say I don't want it," he says. "Sit down and relax." He gestures for her to retake her seat. And to his surprise, she does. Her cheeks are now colored a rosy shade of pink and she seems intent on studying the boards beneath her laced up boots.
Setting the laptop back on the table, Peeta reaches out toward Katniss' clenched hand and gently grasps it from underneath.
"May I?" he asks, and she stares at him like a deer in headlights for a moment before understanding dawns on her face and she slowly unclenches her fingers to allow him to retrieve the pin from her palm.
Peeta picks up the Mockingjay pin from her hand, his fingers lightly brushing her calloused palm in the process. He clears his throat, hoping she can't tell from looking at him just how affected he is from merely touching her skin. Or really, from just being in her presence. What is it about this woman? She has some sort of spellbinding effect on him…
She has no idea the effect she has; or at least she appears to be completely absorbed by a tiny thread in the seam of her pants that she is pulling at intently. But unless Peeta is imagining it, she seems to be blushing again.
"So, ah, what do you think it's worth?" Peeta asks, then shakes his head at his poor choice of words. He tries again. "I mean, clearly it's priceless—a family heirloom—but um…" he trails off, uncertain of how to continue.
"I'll take $100," Katniss blurts out.
He can't help it—Peeta laughs, but there is no mirth in it. In fact, he shakes his head sadly. It's clear to him now that Katniss needs cash and she needs it badly. If she's willing to part with something so valuable, and something that has been in her family for generations, she must truly be desperate. Just looking at her skinny frame and hungry eyes is enough to confirm his suspicions.
He doesn't know what it is about this woman, but Peeta feels compelled to help her. He's drawn to her in a way he has never been drawn to another person, and deep down he knows he needs more of her—more time to learn everything about her; to memorize the changing shadows in her eyes and the myriad of expressions that cross her face every minute. So he does something that is probably stupid, and certainly impulsive.
"I'll give you $1,000 for it," he says, looking directly into her eyes to indicate the seriousness of his offer.
Katniss gasps, her expression briefly flickering with a sort of elation and relief, and then immediately returning something holding more suspicion. Her eyes narrow and she just barely shakes her head from side to side, considering him.
"You're making fun of me," she says, after a moment of consideration.
"Katniss, no!" Peeta replies, reaching out to touch the sleeve of her jacket once again. "I'm completely serious. You saw the research I pulled up on the internet—it's an antique, and rare."
The glare is gone, but she still regards him with wariness.
He can see that she doubts him, and he can't bear the idea of her walking out of here and selling this pin for mere dollars when she so clearly needs much more. He clears his throat. "Besides, I can easily double my money," he lies.
She's softening, he can tell. She sighs, and then finally nods.
"So you'll allow it?" he asks.
At this she gifts him with the briefest of smiles. Peeta can't help but return it with a wide grin.
"I don't have that kind of cash on hand," he says, moving toward the cash register. "But I can give you $300 today, and then if you come by again tomorrow I can give you the rest. Is that okay?"
"That's fair," she says, her demeanor returning to one of all business.
Peeta opens the cash register up and lifts the till, pulling out several large bills and counting them out. Truthfully, $300 is about all he has in the drawer, not counting small bills and change. He hands it over to Katniss, who looks as if she is itching to turn and run now that the business is complete. Instead she holds out her hand to shake.
Peeta offers his own right hand to shake in return, but then brings his left hand over as well and clasps her hand between his two warmly.
"Thank you," she says, her eyes meeting his for a moment before flitting away again toward her boots.
"Anytime, Katniss," he replies. "I'll see you tomorrow."
When she's gone, Peeta pockets the Mockingjay pin and watches her through the window as she heads back down the bike trail toward the woods on foot. He has no intention of selling the pin. Ever.